They Know
by IzzyMorgensternXX
Summary: The end of 8x03/ beginning of 8x04 Jonerys (Jon/Daenerys) scene that we deserve but are very unlikely to get.


The snow has started falling in light waves just a few moments after the daylight had begun to creep over the horizon. There was a callous and noisy wind in the air which only emphasised the sharp contrast between the noise of the night's battle and the silence of the fallen in the morning gloom.

The ground was littered with bodies. Jon made sure to tread carefully so that he did not disturb them. White walker, noble lord, stable boy- their status and what they did in their final moments did not matter to him. They deserved respect, they deserved to rest in peace, they had fought with honour, they deserved to be remembered.

Jon knew he should make his way to the Godswood. He should find Bran, he should find his sisters, he should make sure they were ok and convene the small council. He knew what a good brother- correction, cousin- should do, what a good king should do but he just couldn't bring himself to move. His legs were leaden, his body exhausted and his heart broken as he stared down at the body of Viserion.

He hadn't known the dragon as well as the other two but he still felt a connection to him. Aye, he had spent more time with Drogon and Rhaegal. Aye, he had flown on Rhaegal several times and the green dragon was now- at least unofficially- probably his personal dragon. Just like Drogon was Dany's…

Dany.

He needed to find her. Someone should tell her about Viserion. About her child and what had happened to him. He had spent hours, no days even, wishing he could convince her that the witch who said she would never have another child was wrong. Wishing he could prove it to her. How happy they would be! He could still imagine them now- splitting their time between King's Landing, Dragonstone and Winterfell, their trips to Mereen with the dragons flying high above the boat, Sam being their maester and teaching their children all about the history of the Targaryens, Starks and the first men, and, perhaps most clearly of all, Dany and himself flying on their dragons over Blackwater Bay.

He would ride Rhaegal, she would ride Drogon, their eldest child- Visenya Lyanna or Aemon Eddard, he already had names in mind, would ride Viserion. Dany would argue for days about that- say that little Visenya or little Aemon were not old enough to fly by themselves. He would reply by saying that there would be no room for them on the other dragons- what with their other children being so much younger. Dany would concede, very begrudgingly, mostly due to the incessant begging of little Visenya or Aemon- she could never say no to them. She could never say no to her babies, her children, the ones she could never imagine holding in her arms.

Now, that dream was gone.

There would be no young Targaryen prince or princess riding their dragon over Blackwater Bay. Viserion was dead. Daenerys was his aunt. Aye, Targaryens were different, something he wished he could stop thinking, stop contemplating. He wanted to be a man of honour. His father- no, his uncle- had stood against Joffrey when he found out that he was a product of incest and no true descendent of King Robert. He had even named his first born child after that king, after his best friend.

_But it will be different, _a voice in his head told him, _you are not brother and sister, not that that would be anything unusual for your family. And you would be married, your children would be legitimate. Joffrey was a bastard. That's why your father stood against him._

But I'm a bastard, Jon reminded himself, and the Northerners still declared me their king. Being a bastard means nothing anymore. The people do not want a king who has the right to the throne by blood. They want a good king, one who will love them and who they can love, who will treat them fairly and end their suffering.

A good king or a good queen.

There was a part of Jon that was glad he was locked to the spot in that place. Locked there, unable to move. He didn't want to think about the things that he wanted to do right now. He didn't want to think about the things that he wanted to do right then which he once would have called love. He wanted to remain there, staring down at that dead dragon, reminding himself that this was what he had brought her, this was what he had done to her, this was why he didn't belong with her, amongst the many other reasons.

He wanted this punishment, he wanted this pain. He wanted to remind himself that he had broken her heart only the night before and that he deserved his heart broken too.

A soft chirping noise made him turn his head up to the sky as dark green wings obscured the sunlight. Rhaegal flew in a slow circle over Winterfell before landing unsteadily next to Jon Snow. The dragon looked with a grimace at his tattered wing before turning his head so that Jon could place a comforting hand on his muzzle. Rhaegal's eyes closed briefly in tired empathy before taking in the bones of his brother. Jon swore that the dragons had human souls in them, he had seen it before in the way Drogon had been so intrigued by him when he and Dany had been at the waterfall. Dany had joked that Drogon was sizing up his new step-father, Jon had replied that he just hoped Drogon wouldn't try to eat him.

_Well, you better not break my heart then, Jon Snow,_ Dany had replied smiling, _I can't promise my children won't try to avenge me._

That smile. He needed to see that smile again.

He needed her.

He looked at the green dragon's bowed head, watched how he sniffed mournfully at his brother's bones.

"Rhaegal," Jon began gently, "Where is she? Where is your mother?"

Rhaegal looked up with a sad chirp, looking at Jon with watery eyes before inclining his head to the right slightly and letting out a confirmatory chirp.

Jon looked in that direction. The sun had risen just enough for him to see the winged shadow.

Drogon. He seemed to be huddled close to the ground. Jon couldn't tell if he had been injured but he very much hoped not. Dany already had one dead dragon and one injured one to deal with. He wanted her to have at least something left after this battle. Something that she could depend on, find comfort in.

Jon shook his head. Nephew or not, it was his responsibility to comfort her. He should have gone to her sooner instead of selfishly attending to his own emotions.

Jon raced in Drogon's direction, feeling the cold air steal away his breath. He only slowed as he approached Drogon, knowing full well that the red dragon was the largest and most aggressive, and would not appreciate surprises. Especially if he was protecting his mother.

Drogon looked up, sniffing the air, as Jon approached, and let out a low whine before nuzzling at the figure on the ground.

He saw her. She was crumpled over Ser Jorah's body, unmoving. In her hand, she clutched a sword, it has been used. Of course, it had, Jon thought, she's a fighter.

As soon as Drogon moved aside, he rushed towards his queen.

There was no acknowledgement of his presence. Not even when he placed a hand gently against her back.

"No, no, no!" Jon yelled panic-stricken, as he pulled her from her dead friend and into his arms.

She didn't wake up. He eyes were closed, almost as if she were sleeping. Her face was covered in blood and mud and tears which had frozen on her cheeks. He brushed those tears away gently as he rested her head against his chest. Her coat, the bright white fur, was tarnished with blood and mud also, but he couldn't tell how much of the blood was Ser Jorah's and how much, if any, belonged to her.

The last time he'd seen her she'd been riding Drogon, telling him to go to Bran. He'd thought she'd be safe. That the battle would be over a few moments later and they'd be sat in the Great Hall by now, either attending to the sick, or speaking to the small council.

Jon placed a hand against her pale cheek, she was freezing cold. Ice cold.

He didn't want to, he didn't want to think of that possibility, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable by not acknowledging the possibility.

He slide his hand down to her neck.

"Come on, come on," he said to himself as he tried to find her pulse, "Come on, Dany, you can't be, you can't be dead…"

Dead. His voice broke on that last word, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Dead. He couldn't imagine a world without her in it.

Dead. He couldn't imagine carrying her lifeless body back to Winterfell. Couldn't bear to think of the horrified looks on her friends and advisors' faces.

Dead. He couldn't imagine ruling a kingdom without her.

In that moment, he didn't care that they were related.

He leaned over her gently, kissing her desperately, hoping he could will some warmth and if needs be, some life, back into her. He ran his hand through her hair, now tangled and matted and bloodied.

"Don't be gone," he whispered against her lips, "I still love you. I will always love you."

Jon moved so that he could take in her face again. She was too young to die.

She was meant to be a queen.

His warrior queen.

He took the sword gently from her hand, noticing how tight her grip on the sword still was, how she had held it.

She was a natural sword fighter, he realised.

"Please, Dany," Jon begged, "Please wake up. I need you. We all need you."

Drogon let out a low moan before lying down as best he could on the ground, his head resting inches from the body of his queen and nuzzling at her wrist as if he wanted Jon to know something.

"What is Drogon?" Jon asked, before carefully taking Dany's arm in both of his hands.

It was a bloodied mess, clearly broken. He bit back tears knowing how much pain she'd experienced that night. Seeing her friend and her child die, being injured and now maybe even…

He wrapped a hand gently around her wrist.

He felt a soft flutter against his fingertips.

His eyes flew wide as a wide and grateful smile crossed his face.

"She's alive!" Jon yelled, tears streaming down his face, "She's alive, Drogon!"

Drogon returned Jon's smile with a toothy, wide grin, before turning his face towards Winterfell and his brother.

"Go," Jon told the dragon, "She's safe now." 

BREAK_BREAK_BREAK_BREAK

The first thing she could feel was the heat. A dragon queen might not be able to burn but they could definitely swelter. There was a heaviness pressing down on her body and heat searing through it. So different from the last moments, so different from the bone chilling cold that she barely registered. Even the need to sleep was beginning to leave her now, though her eyelids still remained shut tight. She didn't need to sleep, probably couldn't anyway now, but she still felt exhausted.

She could feel her wrist throbbing painfully. Yes, she had broken it. She remembered that much. She had gutted the Wight that had injured her. He had been one of the many. One of the many that had…

Fallen.

Ser Jorah. Jorah.

The images came back to her. Him being stabbed over and over and over. Him jumping up to protect her when she'd fallen off of Drogon and everything seemed to be lost. When death had been imminent. He had fought until the end.

He had wanted her love, he even deserve it, perhaps, and she had done nothing but push him away.

I might not be mad like my father, Dany thought to herself as she began to feel the tears run down her face, but I don't have a gentle heart, mine is cruel and dark and black.

"No, it isn't," she heard an adamant voice reply. There was pain in that voice. Pain she wanted to cure.

Because that voice. It sounded familiar to her, it sounded like home, and her mind was too muddled, too frozen to know why, until…

"Jon!" Dany yelled, her eyes flying open as she tried to sit up.

"No, you don't," Jon said adamantly, placing strong hands against her upper arms so that she couldn't sit up, "You need to keep still and rest."

Dany allowed herself to sink back against the soft pillows, noticing how her hands brushed against the furs that were draped over was a large fire burning in the corner of the room. Ghost was lying on the bed, his head resting on her stomach, just like always, his paws either side of her waist. It seemed almost normal. Almost just like any other day.

Except it wasn't.

"Jon," Dany said, feeling her face contort into a sad grimace.

"Hey," Jon said, as he brushed away her tears, "It's ok. You're safe now. The battle is over. You're going to be fine."

Dany shook her head, "Jorah… Viserion…"

Jon sighed, taking her bandaged hand gently in his, "I know. Jorah died with honour, we buried him in the Godswood. I wish you could have been there but…"

"How long?" Dany asked, "How long has it been?"

"A week," Jon admitted, "I wanted to wait until you woke up but…" 

Dany blinked in confusion, "A week?"

Jon nodded, "They gave you milk of the poppy. It can make people sleep for a long time."

Dany nodded in understanding, "What happened? How was the night king defeated? How did you kill him? What have I missed?"

Jon sighed, "It was Arya who killed the Night King. Apparently, Bran knew that was how it was going to happen. I'm proud of her, happy for her even. But she should have never needed to do that. I should have been there to do that for her. I guess destiny is destiny though, doesn't really care too much for our choices.

"After the battle, Dany, I… I… I thought you were gone. When I found you, you weren't moving, you were so cold, so still. I thought I'd lost you. I thought…"

Dany reached up to place a hand against his cheek, "Never. I would never leave you, my love."

Jon reached up to place a hand over hers and gently moved her's away, earning a sad look from Dany.

Of course, she should have realised. For her, it was so normal. She had grown up all of her childhood believing she would marry her brother. Thank the gods she'd been able to escape that fate. A marriage to Jon had been a much better idea, a much healthier one too on so many levels. She loved him and he loved her. Dany might have put on a tough exterior, and if anyone had asked, except maybe Missandei, she would have denied even wanting to marry the man sitting before her, but now… Now, that she had nearly lost everything, she no longer chided herself for having girlish fantasies of marrying Jon and maybe, just maybe, the witch being wrong.

Now, it looked like it could never be. Jon was a man of honour and she was dishonourable. He deserved someone more than her. Someone who wouldn't break her heart like she'd broken Jorah's.

"Dany, I'm sorry," Jon said, "I just…"

"It was wrong of me to impose," Dany said in her queenly, stoic fashion.

"Impose?" Jon said with a confused expression, "No, it… I still love you, Dany. I know I shouldn't love you like that, but I still do. And now…"

"Now, I've put you in an impossible position," Dany said, "Not just with the thrown- which you are not going to abdicate under any circumstance, do you understand? But with me… as a woman…"

"Dany," Jon began, shaking his head.

"No, if I had shown more restraint," Dany began.

"Restraint?!" Jon yelled, interrupting her, "You forget that I was the one who came to your rooms on that boat!"

"I reciprocated," Dany replied, "I made this whole mess between us. I-."

Jon leaned forward swiftly to kiss her. Dany's eyes widened with shock, as she reached up to tangle a hand in his hair and pull him closer to her.

Jon pulled away slowly, looking at her lovingly.

"I thought you didn't want me?" Dany asked, her voice quiet and timid. So unlike her.

"I want you more than anything else in the world," Jon said, "I wanted to be the first one to make a move. To let you know that nothing needs to change between us. Well, except…"

Dany raised an eyebrow at him, "I've already told you that you are not going to abdicate the throne."

"I won't be abdicating," Jon said with a heavy sigh and Dany could swear that she could see a slight smile tugging at his lips, though he tried not to show him, "But neither will you."

Dany let out a gasp. That couldn't mean what she thought it meant. She had never dreamed of this. Never thought they would get to this point. She'd always believed the war would take them before they ever got this opportunity. Now…

"Is that your attempt at a marriage proposal?" Dany asked, hoping desperately that it was.

Jon nodded, "Yes."

"Aren't men supposed to bend the knee when they propose?" Dany asked in a flirting tone.

"Usually," Jon teased, "But that's not really our style, is it, your Grace?"

Dany let out a loud laugh, before trying to move so that she could pull Jon into her arms. Her body screamed in protest.

"Hey," Jon said, "What did I tell you about resting?"

Dany sighed in frustration before Jon stood up, kicking off his boots and moving the covers aside so that he could climb in beside her. He pulled her gently into his arms as she rested her head against his chest. Ghost shuffled so that his head was still resting on her stomach and Dany reached out to scratch behind the direwolf's ears, just as he liked.

"I wish I didn't feel so drowsy and achy," Dany complained, like a petulant child, "I want to celebrate. We should have a feast, go on a dragon ride, do something better than…"

Jon placed a hand under her chin, tilting her head so that her violet eyes met his, "This is perfect. You are perfect."

"As are you, my King," Dany said.

"My king?" Jon asked.

Dany nodded, "Yes, my King. Do… do the others know?"

Jon nodded, "I told them. I know I should have probably consulted you first but… after the mess that was created by the Lannisters. Northerners care deeply about this kind of thing… I felt they had a right to know…"

"Jon," Dany began, "I'm so proud of you. That was a brave and a hard thing to do. I'm guessing the Northerners weren't too happy at the news."

Jon gave a sad half-laugh, "You could say that."

"They never wanted a southern queen," Dany replied miserably. She had hoped they would love her. She never had hoped they would call her Mhysa, act like the slaves she had freed back in Astapor or Yunkai or Meeren, no, they were not those kind of people. But she hoped she could win their love or trust, at least.

"Aye, they never wanted a southern queen," Jon replied, "Until now."

Dany looked up at him in shock, "Jon?"

"The Godswoods' been packed with people praying for your health," Jon said.

"Why?" Dany asked, "I'm a Targaryen. You told me, the Northerners are only loyal to their own."

"That's true," Jon replied, "But you're presuming they don't consider you to be one of their own now."

Dany frowned, "How could they? After what my father did to your grandfather and uncle? How could they not just see me as the daughter of the Mad King?"

Jon brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, "You saved their lives, Dany. How can you not see yourself a something more than a mad queen? Something more than your father?"

Dany's eyes glistened with tears, "I'm scared that one day I will break. Just like he did."

Jon shook his head, "I know you, my Daenerys. You're too strong. Too kind. You do have a gentle heart, a gentle and fierce one."

He slid a hand down her side until it rested on her stomach.

"Especially when you have something, or someone, to fight for."

Dany's eyes were wide with shock, her breathing fast, her heart thundering in her ears. She looked at Jon for confirmation, confirmation of what should be impossible. He nodded. Dany placed gentle hand against her stomach, feeling the small bump there. How had that appeared in the week that she'd been asleep? How could she have not noticed before? How could she have not found it strange that Ghost always wanted to rest his head on her stomach, or that Drogon always seemed to be staring at it/ nudging at it too? Did those questions even matter now? She was so overjoyed, so taken aback, so alive with every happy feeling imaginable.

"It's not possible," Dany said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Dany," Jon began, "Daenerys, my queen. You were the last member of an ancient household which had almost faded from memory. You were sold and enslaved and despite everything you became a queen and a mother of dragons. Everything about that should have been impossible but yet you are here. Impossible has no hold on us."

Dany let out a beaming smile, "Do they know?"

"Aye," Jon said, "The Northerners know."

Dany nodded, "I meant my child's older brothers."

Jon smiled, before reaching carefully to pull Dany into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and draping the thickest of furs around her. Dany frowned as he carried her towards the balcony, pushing the doors gently aside.

Dany looked up into the sky. She could see them- Drogon and Rhaegal playing together, circling over Winterfell. Having a moment of peace and joy. They turned as they saw her, letting out soft chirps and showing toothy grins.

"Aye, my Queen," Jon told her, "They know."


End file.
